Barely twelve hours had passed since wrapping up our board meeting over a dinner in downtown Pittsburgh. A few of us had decided to stay for the U.S. Open and by nine o’clock that morning, it was already sweltering. The hundred-year elms that once threw shade over Oakmont Country Club were gone. I learned they were victims of a course that prizes punishment: “hard usually beats handsome,” or so I heard from a born-and-bred Pittsburgher earlier that week. The renovation toughened the layout and, judging by the sweat stains, the spectators too. I slathered on drug-store sunblock, bought a souvenir cap in a feeble attempt to beat the heat, and refocused on the task at hand. Oakmont is one of America’s most storied tracks. This year marks its 10th U.S. Open, the only major where a weekend-handicap dreamer can claw through qualifiers to face the world’s best. It’s here that you learn fast about making tough decisions.
The day before the Open, a handful of us huddled around a different sort of course map: org charts, key metrics, and Q1 financials that left a few directors uneasy about the start to the year. If ever a board meeting invited finger-pointing, this was it. Instead, management took the blame without flinching. No talk of vague “headwinds,” no gentle euphemisms. They laid out fixes already under way and early signs the business was catching a second wind. A deft way to skip endless questioning over already-made decisions and to keep the spotlight on building potential for a bright future. Though tough questions lingered, like the possibility of stripping a department’s budget to zero in order to rebuild from scratch. All of this made Oakmont feel fitting. In a city that forged steel long before it forged champions, good intentions matter less than grit. Someone has to take the hit, then swing again, harder.
Back at the course, with the board meeting still fresh in our heads, the company’s senior leadership joined forty-thousand hopeful witnesses to crisp swings and tidy fortunes. Halfway down a long par five, a pro studied his lie, murmured with his caddie, and fired an iron straight into a bunker not ten feet in front of him. I felt bad for the guy, but it’s moments like these that make my own middling game sting less.
Crossing the Pennsylvania Turnpike overpass on our way to the second green, we caught whiffs of warm pretzels and Steel City hot dogs: kielbasa, coleslaw, fries, no ketchup. I risked mild heresy with a swipe of yellow mustard but escaped local persecution. Once at the green, we ran into a fellow investor from yesterday’s board meeting. Conversation drifted from the slow resurrection of the Pittsburgh Pirates to the notion that any dentist with a two-handicap could qualify for this championship. We discussed what it meant to provide real stewardship for a company going through a period of unexpected challenges. Showing up to a board meeting once a quarter is fine for a casual observer. Palpable change comes from tough personnel questions over coffee, the tone set between meetings, and in how you speak about a company when management is out of earshot. “Is that manager really in the right seat?” you must ask yourself. Or is she even really at the right company?
As the afternoon crawled into the nineties, volunteers hawked overpriced lemonade, and the gallery pressed on because people will brave heat to watch pressure find its mark. Boards do the same. We sketch targets on legal pads, knowing reality will redraw them. The value lies in rehearsing possibilities, then keeping your head on straight when the next variable breaks loose. Around here, comfort is optional and resilience is required. Similarly, while the course maps at Oakmont promise orientation among tee boxes, hazards, and walking routes, anyone who plays knows maps guide but never guarantee. The terrain always wins. Companies and boards are no different. Facts are shared, conditions are brutal, and judgment rests on how well you improvise.
And so in the mid-afternoon heat we departed, scattering to airports and hotel lobbies. I saw maybe a dozen swings all day, a fair trade at a crowded Open. Board work teaches you to live with partial views, to focus on angles and outcomes instead of every motion. Besides, I polished off a Steel City hot dog and logged good miles with a team I trust. Tough to beat a June afternoon where even missed swings feel useful, because here in Pittsburgh, hard always beats handsome.